


Blaming Two

by abygail_grace



Series: Bicker & Banter [1]
Category: Batman: The Dark Knight Rises, Inception (2010), Romeo+Juliet (1996), The Great Gatsby (2013), This Means War (2012), Warrior (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:13:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abygail_grace/pseuds/abygail_grace
Summary: A short little comedy crack- not exactly- but I am sooooo game for a follow up on this. Basically, Yusuf is in a cafe, and very, very confused. Two might be behind it all. I wish so earnestly I could tell you more... just read it. ;)





	Blaming Two

Yusuf stood at the back of the café, very seriously debating over his choice in espresso before he dared to jump into the line. A sweet mocha sounded comforting, but he was so tired he might just take black drip coffee. He frowned at the menu a few minutes longer, running a hand through his fluffy mop of black, messy curls.

“Having a bit of trouble, are you, old sport?” A voice laughed gaily behind him.

He swiveled around, seeing Dom Cobb standing there, in a ridiculous pale pink suit, leaning on a gold cane and winking with his vivid blue eyes.

Yusuf eyed him up and down. “You’ve updated your wardrobe, I see, Cobb. Family life suiting you, then?”

Cobb’s eyes went all squinty, his thick brows drew together, and in signature fashion he ran a hand through his dark golden hair. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m Gatsby. Jay Gatsby.”

He frowned. _“What?”_

Cobb grinned widely, raising a champagne glass that had appeared from nowhere, and fireworks all began suddenly exploding behind him. He looked very pleased with himself.

“Yes, old sport!” Cobb held out his arms. “I've attended Oxford, I’m a great war hero, billionaire, and friends with most any powerful person- just ask _anybody!”_

“Um…” Yusuf shifted forward into the line, muttering apologies to a few people as he bumped into them, hastily trying to escape Dom Cobb. Who had evidently gone insane. At least he’d made his decision. Strong coffee. Black. And maybe he could get Eames to share some scotch, if Arthur hadn’t confiscated it from him already.

“You can just go on and skip me in line if you’re this desperate for some morning revival, mate.” A familiar English drawl, rough and low, yet expressive and smooth. Eames. Thank goodness.

He decided to voice as much. “Oh, thank goodness.” Yusuf turned to give a relieved smile at his savior.

Eames dipped his head at him, hands slid into the pockets of a dark suit, but he extracted one to stick it out in front of him, as though waiting for something. It took a few moments before he realized Eames was trying to shake his hand. Giving him a funny look, Yusuf clasped the offered hand with his own, noticing the familiarity of that bent pinky finger.

“I’m Tuck- very nice to meet you, Yusuf.” Eames gave him a genuine nod, lips tugging slightly.

He froze in shaking Eames’ hand. “Is this something you and Dom are up to?”

Eames’ forehead crinkled. “Sorry, who?”

He pulled his hand away, horrified. “And _what_ are you wearing?”

Eames glanced down at his suit- his very boring, very regular, very not at all himself suit. “Erm… quite classic clothing, I thought- have I got it wrong?”

Cobb burst into the conversation again, still beaming ecstatically around all white teeth. “And by _Cobb,_ I think our friend here means _me…_ ah… Tuck, was it?”

Eames let his eyes travel over Dom a moment, calculative. “Yes. Jay Gatsby, I take?”

Cobb cut into the line, earning a few exclamations of “watch it!’ and “ow! what the-” along the way, but as soon as he flashed his ring, which held the engraving of JG, all the disgruntled complaints turned to gasps of wonder, and everyone in the café began whispering eagerly.

Cobb nodded at the crowd smugly, then turned his attention back to Eames, who had a glint in his eyes as though he’d stumbled upon a great treasure.

“I see you’ve heard of me, even if Yusuf hasn’t.” Cobb shot him an anxious look. “That is your name, isn’t it, old sport?”

He spluttered indignantly. “Yes! But you know that- both of you- what are you-?”

Eames stepped in front of him, effectively cutting him off as he pierced Dom with eyes like lasers. “Mr. Gatsby, I’m afraid I’ll need a moment with you- preferably somewhere private.”

Cobb looked over Eames’ broad shoulder, to Yusuf, eyes widening slightly, as though he was afraid. For his part, Yusuf was just really confused and starting to get mildly annoyed. Dom finally responded, voice shaking slightly, slow, and deliberate. “What’s this all about?”

A too tight suit strained across Eames’ back as he folded his arms, coming out bluntly. “I’m working with the government, who feels your money and your fame have cropped up from thin air and are adamant about having you investigated.”

Cobb yanked nervously on the pink neck collar of his shirt. “I’m sure that’s not necessary, old sport. Ask anybody, and I can assure you- they’ll back up my story.”

He could hear the darkness in Eames’ tone. “That’s precisely why you’re being investigated. Consider it friendly spying, for the time being.”

Yusuf felt that was the time for him to start laughing. Because Eames and Cobb were being completely absurd and yet doing it so well and in the middle of a café for no reason at all. All he wanted was some coffee- but no- of course not. He began laughing in earnest, doubling over slightly, and having to catch his breath. He coughed, wheezing from laughing too hard. Yusuf firmly blamed Eames. He was the only one who would have convinced Cobb to partake in a little stunt- though why, he still was completely lost for.

He straightened himself completely, wiping his eyes. “Sorry, you two are both just being so- _holy_ -”

He cut himself off there, because there would have been a very startled and very vulgar sounding swear word if he’d let his shock get the better of him. Dom Cobb was still in front of him, but he was around ten years younger, with floppy hair, tear streamed cheeks, and a rainbow Hawaiian shirt, of all things, hands shaking around a small vial. He sniffed, blinking down more tears as he continued fixing Yusuf with the most pathetically sad expression he’d ever seen in his life. But then he opened his mouth, and it got even stranger.

“O, here will I set up my everlasting rest, and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!”

By the end of his speech, Dom was thrusting the vial into the air with vigor, sobbing loud, unashamed voice-cracking tears, unstopping the vial, and pouring the contents down his throat. He tossed aside the vial, sniffing again, and wiping the wetness of his face. Yusuf winced as the vial shattered on the floor but was too engrossed in whatever was going on to apologize to the barista about Cobb’s embarrassing mess. Instead, he just watched, mouth gaping, as the younger, apparently very hormonal, and vaguely suicidal Dominic Cobb fell to his knees, one fist raised in shaking defiance.

“Juliet…” He whispered to the café ceiling, before he collapsed, moving no more.

Yusuf was too scared to check if he was dead. He stared at the splayed figure, at a loss for words. He forced himself to look around at the rest of the café and face the reactions of dozens of questioning strangers, prepared to deny all ties to the man. But it was empty.

The entire café was empty except for one figure. Oh, and Cobb the corpse.

The figure in question, however, was Eames, who had managed to have a wardrobe change in the short interlude. He’d kept the dark theme going, but instead looked rather like he was an addict. He had a black sweatshirt pulled over his head and wore faded black jeans and a scowl.

Yusuf glared. “Let me guess, you’re someone new.”

Eames’ usually vivid blue-green, gold-grey eyes shadowed. Eyes on Yusuf the entire time, Eames dug a hand into his pocket, pulled out a handful of pills, shoved them in his mouth, and took a swig of a vodka bottle he was loosely gripping in his other.

“Mind your own stupid business.” Eames slurred, adopting an accent that was somewhere between New York and New Jersey.

He was stunned. He knew from Arthur that Eames had gotten carried away with drugs and alcohol in his past, but that was years ago. Was he reverting back? Yusuf stopped to think about it. That wouldn’t explain the accent shift or the magical wardrobe transformation. He contemplated Eames, who raised a haughty, scar-slit eyebrow and contemplated him right back, drinking back more vodka as he did so.

Deciding it was safest to play along at that point, Yusuf asked politely, “So… so, what’s your name, then?”

“Tommy.” Came the quiet reply. “Just waiting to fight.”

He blinked. “You’re doing _what_ , now?”

Eames nodded heavily, slumping his head onto the table with a drunken, moody expression. “I’ve got to. Cage fight, that is… something ‘bout my brother I can’t quite remember at the moment.” He grinned dopily around crooked teeth. “I could take you, I bet.”

Yusuf snorted. “You have taken me.”

He regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth. Eames raised both eyebrows that time and forced himself to sit up. “Have… we met?”

He stumbled upon his words. At that point, he was completely and utterly bemused. “Um, well- you see… it’s sort of strange, but you’re… well…”

Eames blinked slowly, like he didn’t understand a word. Then, without warning, he pushed himself from the table and began swinging at him madly, landing a few solid punches before he went to circling him, bouncing restlessly on his heels, and telling him to “come on” and “fight back.”

Even from Eames Not Eames, that was a challenge he was not looking to take. Especially if this was Drunk Addict Cage Fighter with Major Issues Tommy Not Eames. Yusuf did what he could best do in that moment and resolved to just cover his head and face as best could so as to avoid some considerable damage there- if at all possible.

Seriously. He just wanted _coffee_.

That was _it._

The bell on the café door tinkled, and both he and Eames were instantly distracted by the lean shadow coming through the tinted glass. Yusuf was very concerned who it could be. Terrified, actually, as the situation had only gone from bad to worse as Eames and Dom both lost it on him and defied logic of what was even humanly possible in the first place.

Arthur emerged, taking in the scene with his serious face- the ever so stoic and composed face of Arthur was never so welcoming. He looked like himself, too. He looked normal- and that, at least by the standards of that morning, was a colossal achievement.

Arthur stepped inside the café, frowned at Eames, who was swaying unsteadily, then gave Yusuf a worried look. “You alright?” He asked firmly, but kindly.

Yusuf appreciated it- he really did, but he didn’t know the truthful answer. He was fairly certain he was losing his marbles, though. Now that was a fun fact. With the point man there, he felt safe- and before could stop it, he was spilling out everything that had happened and how very much he just didn’t understand. He was breathless by the time he finished his panicking rant, gripping Arthur’s wrist desperately.

“- And so, you’ve got to help, Arthur- there’s nothing I can do- none of this makes coherent sense…”

Arthur smiled very nicely, dimples flashing at him and puppy-dog eyes crinkling. “My name is Blake- Officer Blake, I’m a police detective in Gotham city. You can trust that I’m here to help you.”

And with those deceptively sugar-coated words, Yusuf once again hated everyone and everything with a burning, fiery passion.

Of all the- all the most composed and reliable people. Arthur wasn’t even Arthur.

He wanted to scream. But when he heard himself speak, his voice was flat and exhausted. “Gotham City.”

Arthur looked warily at him. “That’s right. We heard there was a disturbance here, so we came to check it out… so it was just this drunk? Or do you think what you described to me is more of what it is?”

Again, he had no idea what to say, until he actually did scream, a horribly high-pitched shriek because right next to him was a tall, shirtless, ripped man, with a metal mask somewhat like a gas mask strapped over his face and bright eyes. Yusuf knew those eyes- he knew that eyebrow!

Eames again. And he had learned better than to trust any one of his colleagues that day, especially considering none of them seemed to be… well, themselves. He whimpered, backing away from the terror, shaved head, tattoo free, scary Eames who advanced slowly on him, head cocked in curiosity.

“What’s happened to you now?” He wailed, cowering behind Arthur, who seemed slightly irritated.

Eames stared at him. “Pain.” He croaked dramatically, in a warbled, filtered voice.

It was the weirdest voice he’d ever heard in his life.

On the floor, Dom suddenly jerked up- howling in misery as he delivered his most horrible voice crack yet- certainly proving he was alive and being slammed with puberty once again. “THEN I DEFY YOU STARS!”

His voice dragged out on _stars,_ eyes bugging wildly and mouth wide open. Arthur had jumped up particularly high and let out a startled cry- Yusuf was ashamed to admit he screamed again. And sounded like a little girl again.

Eames tilted his head at Cobb too, who had crumpled over once again. “What a lovely, lovely voice.”

Arthur regained his composure the fastest, drawing a gun and aiming it at the monster of a man. “Who are you?” He demanded.

“It doesn’t matter who we are,” Eames wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What matters is our plan…”

Arthur exchanged a look with Yusuf. Arthur might not be Arthur, but he was still actually normal.

“That… that wasn’t helpful.” Arthur sighed.

Yusuf cowered behind him still. Eames’ eyes went wide, he bent down, clearly attempting for mystery.

“I am Gotham’s reckoning.” He whispered, looking very impressed at his own creepiness.

Arthur looked bored. “Try again.”

Eames very clearly pouted from behind the mask, stomping a foot to add to the effect.

“I am necessary evil!” He crowed, raising his hands, and waggling his fingers at them.

Arthur yawned. “That’s nice.”

Eames looked outraged. He tried a new tactic. “Speak of the devil… and… he shall… appear!?!”

“You’re getting stupider each one you try- what do you think back there?” Arthur taunted, then smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

Yusuf poked out from behind Arthur, laughing nervously. “Oh, I… I mean it’s a bit…”

Eames stepped forward. “A bit?”

Yusuf winced. “Boring?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Eames sagged, almost crestfallen to the point where Yusuf could have sworn he felt terribly bad for him.

And then Eames snapped his neck.

 

 

Yusuf jolted himself awake, adrenaline flooding his veins as he yanked out the needle and sat up hastily, heart still pounding. He gulped in air, mind spinning in what might have been panic.

“Yusuf… hey, Yusuf… you feel okay?” A voice swam in front of him. He gaped up at Dom Cobb, who was bending over him. Not dressed in pink. Not smiling like a maniac or crying in Hawaiian shirts and reciting Shakespeare as a young version of himself.

“C-Cobb?” He squeaked.

Dom intently examined him. Yusuf tried to look normal. “It’s me, Yusuf.” He confirmed.

Then he saw Eames, reclining in a draping, entirely unprofessional position in his favorite squishy armchair, tattoos all present, from what he could see, face stubbled, hair parted, crimson striped shirt unbuttoned at the top as he fiddled with his poker chip, and definitely smirking like he knew something. Yep, he blamed Eames.

“Feeling a bit peaky, are we?” Eames inquired, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

“Ha, bloody, HA.” He retorted.

As usual, Arthur was sitting right next to Eames. In fact, he was rolling his eyes, whacking him upside the head, and then muttering something about “always such an arrogant, sarcastic pain” before raising his eyebrows at him in quiet wonder.

He cleared his throat, feeling dull-witted and thick-headed. “And you’re Arthur and Eames, right?”

Eames’ brow jumped in surprise, but he smoothed it over just as fast. “In the flesh, darling.” He droned, while Arthur said, “Of course we are.” simultaneously.

Yusuf felt good about that answer. Seemed legitimate enough.

Cobb was still bending over him apprehensively. “You’re positive you’re fine?” He clarified.

Yusuf thought he would be if he never had to relive that nightmare again, but when he thought about it... it could make some very nice blackmail. He’d wait. In time.

“I’m fantastic.”

Eames shifted uncomfortably, nudging Arthur subtly with his heel and making a small humming noise. Arthur gave a fleeting look of warning in return. And that was when Yusuf realized Eames may have had an accomplice.

And they were both going to love his next compound.


End file.
